


Hemophobia

by KennaM



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Blood, Dysphoria, Gen, Hangover, Hemophobia, Irregular Menstruation, Menstruation, Sickfic, Suicidal Thoughts, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Binding Practices, binding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:48:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KennaM/pseuds/KennaM
Summary: Juno hated blood even on his best days; waking up drenched in his own was nothing short of a nightmare.





	Hemophobia

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank everyone who helped me do research on irregular periods for this fic!

Juno hated blood even on his best days; waking up drenched in his own was nothing short of a nightmare. He could feel it before he saw it – a visceral tear of muscle against muscle deep in the pit of his stomach – and the smell made it obvious these weren't just hunger pangs. It didn’t help that he was hungover, too.

The blood was a recurring nightmare, Juno’s worst. There was no rhyme or rhythm to it, no way to guess when his body would betray him absolutely, and no way to stop it altogether without expensive medication or surgery. All he could do was try not to pass out again from the pain, or the sight of the red spread on his sheets.

He couldn’t remember the last time this had happened – months ago, at least, which felt like years ago. He couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do about it. Out of instinct he crawled off the mattress – his insides protested painfully – and towards the bathroom door. The blood was still spreading down his trousers, the same ones he’d worn to the office the last three days. They’d have to be burned.

In the bathroom Juno fought the urge to vomit. The pain meds he stored under the sink were probably expired, but he dry-swallowed to pills anyways and pulled himself into the shower. His head pounded, from the alcohol last night, and how fucking bright the lights were, and all that blood everywhere, and the smell.

He started the shower before bothering to undress, and sat there – he couldn’t stand yet, not in this state – letting the water wash over him. It was almost freezing but somehow the sensation helped. Below him the water marbled with red streaks, and Juno stared up at the jet of new water to avoid looking.

The blood would start coming faster now, Juno thought weakly. The shift from horizontal to vertical, and gravity. Better to get this ordeal over with – worse to live through. He might as well sit under this shower spray for the full week, or however long it ends up taking this time, for all the good he is to the planet. Maybe the pain will finally do its job and he can just die here. Who’d even notice the difference?

Except that Rita’s definitely gonna call if she doesn’t hear from him in an hour. And his com’s in the other room.

With shaking hands Juno stripped off his shirt, then braced against the wall so he could work on the trousers. His boxers were even worse off, the stain spread so far he had to shut his eyes and take a few breaths before he could even touch them. The clothes all fell in a wet heap by the drain. After a moments hesitation he unzipped the binder as well, and flung it over the curtain rod.

He stayed in the shower for at least twenty minutes – or thirty, he couldn’t tell how much time was passing – before shutting off the water. The headache had dulled and his hands shook significantly less, but his gut still twisted in on itself, and he sat on the toilet to rest. There were a few spare boxers under the sink with the pain meds, along with the menstrual pads that felt like wearing a diaper. He almost vomited again just getting them on.

He called Rita from the floor by his bed.

“Hello?” She sounded understandably confused. He never called this early.

“Hey, Rita, it’s Juno,” he said. His voice came out more hoarse than usual. Even if Rita hadn’t been the one to drag him away from his fifth bottle last night, she’d hear the hangover in his voice. “Listen. I’m not gonna make it to the office today.”

“See, boss, I _told_ you to go straight home after that fight last night but did you listen to me? No. You just _had_ to go all—”

“It’s not that,” he interrupted quickly, “it’s….”

His voice trailed off. Rita knew what was wrong but he didn’t like telling her. Didn’t like saying it. He tried for a moment to think of a reasonable excuse, and failed.

“There’s blood,” is finally all he said. “Lots of blood.”

“There’s-? Oooh.” Juno could hear her wincing through the com line, and he sighed. “Do you need me to come over? I can get some of that tea stuff I saw in this commercial that’s supposed to help—”

“No,” Juno interrupted again. He was half-naked on his bedroom floor, fighting off the abdominal pain and nausea as it was. The last thing he needed was infomercial tea. “No, I don’t need you to come over. Just take the day off—”

Now it was Rita’s turn to interrupt. “No way, Mistah Steel,” she said. He could hear scuffling over the line, like she was grabbing her things, then the sound of a door opening. “You just sit right there and I’ll be over in less than _ten_ minutes, OK? Don’t move. Do you still have that heating pad I gave you?”

Juno didn’t remember any heating pad. “Sure,” he said.

She showed up in twenty minutes, according to the time on his com. Not that Juno was keeping track. He hadn’t moved except to fish a shirt out from underneath the bed to cover himself up somewhat. He tried to stand up when the apartment door opened but his insides wrenched and his head swam, so he settled for sitting up against the edge of the mattress. The blood smell was so prevalent he almost didn’t notice it anymore.

Rita came in with what must have been shopping bags by the sound of it, and left them in what passed as his kitchen before making her way to his room. She stopped in his doorway, and said, “Mistah Steel, that’s a lot of blood.”

“Yeah I know,” Juno grumbled. Talking hurt but what else was new.

“Are you… feelin’ OK?” she asked.

Juno sighed. “No Rita, I’m dying.”

“You shouldn’t joke about that, Mistah Steel,” she said quickly. He heard her moving to the opposite side of the bed, and the mattress started to shift. “For all I know you _could_ be dying – I’ve heard stories, you know? Real live stories, people in so much pain they pass out, then you choke on your own saliva or something.” She pulled one of the loose sheets out from under his shoulder.

“What are you dong?” he asked.

“We gotta get these sheets washed, right?” The bedding slipped off the edge of the mattress, the elastic edge loosening beneath his back. “You let it sit too long and it can stain _real_ bad, Mistah Steel, and it gets too – where’s the plastic?”

“Plastic?”

“Aw, look what you’ve done!” Rita practically wailed. “I _told_ you, you’re s’posed to wrap the mattress in _plastic_ to protect it! Now it’s all gone and _ruined_ , it looks so awful—”

“It doesn’t matter what it looks like,” Juno said. “That’s what the sheets are for.”

Rita sniffed, and it wasn’t too hard to believe she’d actually started tearing up. “Mistah Steel, you’re joking, right?” she said.

“Rita I’m gonna vomit,” he responded.

“Oh don’t you dare, Mistah Steel. I’ve got enough to clean up here without you making a mess on _purpose_. Move.” She tugged the last of the bloodied sheets off of the bed – Juno leaned forward to get out of her way – and rolled them into a bundle on the floor. “I’m gonna soak this in cold water until I can get them down to the laundry room, OK?”

Juno grunted in response. He close his eyes and willed the cramping sensation in his abdomen to subside, tried to force his body to actually behave for once. The water in the shower started up again, and Juno wondered how hard it would be to force himself to pass out on the floor. Passing out sounded like a great idea.

“Mistah Steel,” Rita called from the bathroom, her voice slow and laced with concern. Juno opened his eyes, and saw her looking at him through the doorway. She held up the binder. “You didn’t fall asleep in this last night again, did you? I _told_ you a million times—”

“Rita, I’m really not in the mood.” He closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the bare mattress.

Surprisingly, she stopped talking.

After a few minutes Juno lay down on the floor again, too exhausted to keep sitting up and curious if stretching his stomach would soothe the pain. Absently, he thought he should probably cover up his bare legs – Rita was no delicate spirit but it seemed rude – and finally settled on dropping a flat, worn-down pillow over his thighs. The painkillers weren’t doing anything.

Sleep eluded him but time still passed. The shower shut off and Rita left for the kitchen, and after several minutes she came back, holding one of his old mugs. “You’re gonna have to sit up to drink this,” she said.

“Is it scotch?” he asked.

“Very funny, Mistah Steel.” She held out a hand to help him into a sitting position, and frowned when he quickly pulled his hand away. “Maybe you should move to the couch,” she said. “It’s softer than the floor and you could sleep until you’re bed’s ready.”

“And get blood all over my cushions too?” Juno asked. “No thank you.” He took the mug and it smelled awful – all warm and sweet and slightly fruity. He’d have to dump it when he got up to use the toilet.

“Suit yourself,” Rita said, and she turned back towards the bathroom. Juno rested the mug on the pillow in his lap and listened as she stomped the excess water out of the sheets in his shower. She reappeared moments later, and caught him staring. “You better be drinking that tea, Mistah Steel,” she said with a glare. “I didn’t come all this way to have you ignore my sound health advice.”

“Shit, Rita, you don’t have to baby me,” Juno said. He tried to give her a weathering look, but he was probably grimacing too much from the pain. Rita just frowned.

“Mistah Steel,” she said, “I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

She wouldn’t leave, so he took a sip to appease her. It tasted just as awful as he expected it to, but the heat spread into his stomach, and a tiny knot of muscles started to relax. He scowled as if that had made it worse.

“That’s more like it,” Rita said. She took her self-satisfied look with her to the kitchen, and came back moments later with a large trash bag that Juno realized would double as a laundry sack. He watched and she trailed it into the bathroom, then came out with all the bloody evidence bundled inside, the bulging sack slung over her shoulder like a dead body. He didn’t even realize he was sipping the tea again until he saw her grin.

“I’ll be right back,” Rita said to him, “so don’t you dare lock the door behind me because I can already hack the locks open anyways. You’ve done it before and it never works.” Juno thought warily that he didn’t even have to energy to stand.

She turned to leave the room and just before she was out of sight Juno said, “Rita.”

He didn’t think she’d even hear, but she stopped and turned to look at him. “Yeah, Mistah Steel?”

His head felt light and his insides were shredding themselves apart, and all he wanted to do right then was crawl into that space underneath his mattress and die. His grip on the mug tightened. “Thanks,” he said.

His eyes were shut tight, so he could only hear the smile in her voice when she said, “You’re welcome.”


End file.
